The Obscuring Oddities of Time
by SweetLadyLinus
Summary: He made a mistake. One made out of anger and pent up emotion. He lost it, all of it, everything he ever fought for.  Now it's up to a young Ron to travel the obscuring oddities of time in order to pick up the pieces and fix what once was broken.
1. Chapter 1

Time: Chapter One

It was evening and the castle shook with the familiar sounds of night persisting on her boarders. Ron walked alone through the twisting corridors of Hogwarts. His feet hit the marble floor in a soft melodic pattern, like muffled beats on a drum. The disheveled backpack thrown carelessly over his shoulder hung heavy with textbooks, most in poor condition. His Standard Book of Spells: Year Three was in particularly bad shape; he had crunched some pages and broken an ink bottle in his rush to leave the library. Hermione had been putting him on edge lately and he certainly didn't want to wait around long enough for another row to a rise.

He wandered aimlessly for a while before realizing he was nowhere near the Gryffindor tower. As a matter of fact, how _had_ he gotten to this part of the castle? After all he'd only been walking for a few moments and yet this hall looked drastically different than the ones he usually traveled. Maybe he had missed a turn, or perhaps mistaken a door? But despite his attempts to recall his path he couldn't. Ron spun looking for a clue as to where he was, but there was nothing, not a single picture or tapestry. No misshapen wardrobes or ancient vases, no suits of armor perched at the ready. The only light came from the flicker of kerosene lamps glowing on the walls, not a single window shown the darkened air of night. Come to think of it there didn't appear to be any doors either. Wait, hadn't he just seen a door there? Yes, he was certain there had been a large wooden egress on the wall just opposite of him. But where had it gone? People often said the castle had a mind of its own but this was beyond strange.

Ron began to panic, no longer was it just the threat of Filch and that damn cat catching him but now it seemed as though something else was after him as well. He fiddled for a moment in the side pocket of his backpack before comprising his wand from underneath a pile of freshly completed homework. He held the delicate piece of wood at a good distance with his arms bent in identical angles. He crouched slightly in the manner he'd been taught the previous year in defense club. Though he had always assumed the technique taught by Professor Lockhart was complete rubbish, it was the only form he knew. An odd wind began to rustle through the dim hallway ahead as Ron sat silent listening desperately for a noise which would dispel this madness.

An eerie silence emerged as the hanging lanterns lighting the ascending hall began to flicker and finally give out in corresponding pairs as though instructed to. Ron's heart began to race, pounding through his chest. The lights began to gain on him, first like stars in the distance twinkling in the vast space between them and then they were gone and the hall was dark.

The dark was suddenly ripped apart by a blinding blue light. Ron stepped forward on trembling legs to examine the object emitting the bright hue. "A portkey" he gasped. Despite having never seen one himself Ron could recall the phenomena from his parent's stories and the annual owl pamphlets sent by the ministry informing the public on the "Proper way" to ascertain such an object. The sudden pulsations alerted him of the objects hastening departure. Without thinking he reached forward and grasped the article, which almost looked like a shoe from this distance, and had the sudden and rather unpleasant experience of portkey travel.


	2. Chapter 2

Time: Chapter Two

Ron stumbled forward the moment his feet hit ground. His body sprawled out upon the stable dry surface and tried to regain itself. Looking up in to the darkness Ron could feel his eyes adjust to the light and begin to notice shapes previously hidden by the black. The images of a medium length decorative coach complete with end tables caught his eye, the matching arm chairs, coffee table, and grand piano sitting silently in the corner screamed of the room's untouched air. Staggered of breathe he lifted himself up off the wooden floors and onto a nearby chair. "Lumos" he whispered, igniting his wand. The little ball of light, at the very tip of his wand, flickered and reflected upon the mirrors, picture frames, glass vases, and the many other scraps of reflective matter placed precariously about the room. The fire place rested complete with marble hearth and intricately carved white mantle surrounded by a sea of cherry wood flooring, most of which was covered by innately woven Persian rugs. Each detail of the salon so perfectly held its place that only one conclusion could be made. It was staged. No one truly lived in this room. It was merely a place for parties. A place for men and women to stand around with wine glasses and champagne flutes in hand, laughing greedily and talking nothing of consequence. Even the bookshelf lining the walls held some form of undeserved arrogance. Each golden leafed book, no doubt first editions, huddled glowingly on the shelves. The wet bar in the corner, piled high with spirits and drink trapped within crystal bottles, clinched it. Ronald Weasley most certainly did not like this house or whoever just happened to live here.

Even the air, which smelt of stale coffee and chill, spoke to the house's bitterness. Ron had often imagined Draco Malfoy living in a place like this only with far more cobwebs and an unmistakable green twinge to everything.

In the distance there came the sound of hastening bare feet pattering along an adjacent hallway. Ron quickly jumped up from his seat and leaped behind an oversized Davenport before distinguishing his wand with a simply "nox." From around the corner popped a small house elf. She reminded Ron, in a way, of Dobby; Lucius Malfoy's old house elf. The two shared similar elongated noses and the signature house elf eyes only this elf in particular seemed to have suffered a rather intense injury. The tip of her right ear appeared to have been severed.

The injured little house elf bobbed breathlessly around the room cleaning this and pouring glasses of that until the room looked presentable in her opinion. A loud popping noise could be heard from the next room. The elf frost next to the now roaring fire, her hands placed stiffly behind her back and eyes looking dead straight at an empty wall. "Ah, Matilda there you are. We've been standing here for near to a minute now, where is my brandy?" Ron couldn't believe what he was hearing. That voice, that condescending arrogant voice belonged to none other than his own mother. "It's in here, mum" replied the girl referred to as Matilda. "Shall I take your coats then?"

"Of course you should take our coats!" she answered rudely though it was clearly a rhetorical question. "Arthur dear, now remind me why we keep her employed. Couldn't we get one of the elves to do her job?" she asked walking into the room followed by both Matilda and Ron's father. "Old family friend, needs the money dreadfully, I'm afraid."

"Ah, yes. So sad. But that doesn't account for her stupidity. Brandy, Matilda, brandy" she said shaking her fist at the girl. "Surely one of the elves would be more compliant!"

"So sorry, madam." She said placing the glass in Mrs. Weasley's grip. Once she had taken a long swig of the ginger liquid, Mrs. Weasley sat herself with relative ease on the plush sofa. With another swig and a sigh she asked "where are my youngest? I wish to see my youngest" "I'm afraid they're asleep, mum" Answered Matilda. "Well then wake them up! I said I wanted to see my babies." "Very well" Said Matilda, giving a slight curtsy before exiting the room.

In the time it took Mr. Weasley to light a cigar, Matilda had return trailed by two sleepy looking children in purple silk pajamas and yet another house elf. The two children's hair was an unmistakable Weasley attribute but it wasn't until Mrs. Weasley called her children's names that Ron finally recognized them. "Genevra, Ronald come and see your ma-ma." Ron nearly gasped. How could he have not seen it before? It was him, that little boy in the purple silk pajamas was him.

Each child moved forward and deposited a kiss on each of their mother's heavily make-upped checks and retreated back to share the armchair not currently occupied by Mr. Weasley, as though the practice had been observed a thousand times or more. By now the second House elf had moved identically towards the other and to Ron's surprise had the very same mark. Could it be that the removal of the tip of the right ear was customary here? Is it possible that "The Most Honorable House of Weasley" couldn't even take the time to recognize their own house elves and instead had taken to so cruely marking them? Maybe he did agree with Hermione and S.P.E.W after all. The very thought made Ron sick.

"Now tell me, Genevra, how have things been without us?" Ginny, whose long red hair had been braided back into two rows protruding down her back, replied in a submissive but nonetheless automatic tone "we've missed you ever so much, mother" it was clear that this was the assumed response. "Ah, good. And you, Ronald? How has your first term at Hogwarts been?" "Very well, mother, thank you."

"Well? Ronald, we did not bring you all the way back home for Easter holidays to simply hear 'very well'. Are you not exceedingly popular as both your father and I were? Have you not received perfect marks? It is bad enough you're a Gryffindor but haven't you at least made friends with our dear friends' Lucius and Narsissa's boy… um oh yes, Draco? Or perhaps the Crabbe's boy, victor? Isn't there anything you'd like to share, Ronald, anything? She said staring down at the boy scrutinizing his every feature.

"A girl was nearly trampled to death by a troll on Halloween."

"Ah yes I remember hearing about that somewhere. What was her name?"

"Hermione Granger" he replied "they didn't know if she was going to live when the teachers found her."

"Granger, Granger, why haven't I heard that name?"

"She's a muggle born."

"Ah, serves her right! Filthy creatures."

"I don't know" answered the boy shyly. "She seems kinda nice."

"No, Ronald, you must stay away from her. Mudbloods are like viruses attaching themselves to anything they can. I will not permit you to run about with such riff-raff" with one last glance over of the children, Mrs. Weasley sighed and said "well if you have nothing more to interest your ma-ma you may return to bed"

"Yes mother" the two said in perfect unison, both taking Matilda's waiting hands. Young Ronald took one last defeated look at his mother before finally leaving.

"Mudbloods, can you imagine, Arthur? Next he'll be on about that Potter boy" she stated clearly aghast.

"Yes dear" came Mr. Weasley's answer from deep within a Dailey Prophet.

Ron was infuriated. How could they, his own parents, be such monsters? Hermione had nearly been killed and all they could say was "serves her right". As annoying as Hermione could be she never, not in a million years, deserved that. And what was that bit about Harry? Over the years Harry had saved his life so many times, granted it was because of Harry that Ron's life was in danger but nevertheless. He and harry were best mates, had been since day one. How could they be so cruel? So vindictive? So-so terrible?

Just as the lump in the back of Ron's throat began to swell past its quo and his clenched fists began to shake the blue portkey return and he was pulled away yet again.

**I love Mrs. Weasley to death. Hated doing this to her. But it's important, I promise!**


	3. Chapter 3

Time: Chapter Three

_Breathe_ thought Ron, _just breathe_. The uncomfortable pressure acquired from portkey travel had begun build up in his chest and even the simplicity of breathing had become laden. From his fingers to his toes there had begun an odd tingling sensation that had left him feeling almost numb. The icy twinge of the night wind, blowing in from somewhere, nipped at what little skin he had exposed.

It was dark. Why did it always have to be dark? It wasn't that he was afraid of the dark, no never. It's just that, well, in situations such as these, when you've been shot forward into some unknown place by a series of portkey which you didn't know existed, you tend to prefer the light. Nevertheless, Ron sat with his back resting upon an enormous wall of rock; his fingers shook as they searched for a place to rest amongst the multitude of jagged stones. As best he could tell, Ron was deep within the belly of what appeared to be a cave. "Hello?" he called out into the black "hello?" "_Hello_" came his own echoed voice in return. Freeing his wand from his back pocket, Ron lit its tip hoping to eradicate the dark. The little spark hardly made a difference amongst the cave walls. "Hello? Please, is there anyone there?" a slight quiver added to Ron voice as he spoke.

"Now ickle Ronikins, that's no way to sound like a big brave Gryffindor is it?" the wand griped so tightly in Ron's hand suddenly cascaded to the floor. He stood up immediately, searching pointlessly through the shadows. Picking up the glowing wand now completely submerged in a nearby puddle, Ron asked again "Hello?"… "Fred, is that you?" The voice, the terribly familiar voice, had suddenly dropped. It was no longer talking but rather humming the sound reverberating off the walls again and again making it impossible to locate. "Fred!" the humming had stopped. "Yes?" said the voice just inches from his face. Ron gave out a slight screeching noise, as though he thought better of the scream protruding from his throat but didn't have time to stop it. "Fred stop this it isn't funny."

A sudden burst of light near the front of the cave erupted, illuminating every inch. "Oh come off it little brother. Why must you ruin all my fun?" questioned the slender figure of Fred Weasley.

"Fred! Where the blood hell are we? What's going on?"

"Well, quite frankly _Ronnie_, where you are, and where I am, are two very different places but for now, they're both inconsequential."

"wait, but Fred I don't understa-"

"Neither did I" he replied with a laugh. And before Ron could refuse, Fred had him in a tight hug.

It wasn't often, in fact it rarely happened at all, that Ron received a hug from Fred. Clearly there was something going on here, something was definitely off.

Fred released his youngest brother and said, with such sincerity it was hard to dispute, "It's good to see you, Ron."

"Fred, have you gone mad? Five minutes ago you were flicking mashed potatoes at me at dinner in the great hall, and now you're acting as if you haven't seen me in ages."

"Something like that" he said with another, slightly odd, laugh, patting a solid grip on Ron's shoulder in the process.

That's when it accord to him "have you grown?"

"only slightly" remarked Fred. He took no time in siting down on a rather large rock, he motioned for Ron to do similarly.

"Now," he said frankly, as though beginning a business meeting with a rather troublesome client. "I'm sure there are quite a few questions you'd like to have cleared up but first I need you to do something for me, alright?"

Ron gave an apprehensive nod towards his brother allowing him to continue.

"Ron, I need you to think back, into what you just saw. That moment, that memory, that lie, whatever you believe that instant to be, I need you to look into it, okay? I need you to see every inch of that room, the curtains, the chairs, the wallpaper, all of it. The people too, what did mum and dad look like, what was Ginny dressed in, but more importantly Matilda, what did Matilda look like?"


	4. Chapter 4

Beneath the reaches of a dreary London night sky, there sits a nearly abandoned café caressed by the twinge of a sickly yellow street lamp. The sign hanging crooked above its doors reads, in neon print, "The Palace Priscilla," though her scratched linoleum floors, duct tape repaired vial booths, and painted shut windows seem to renege her title. Her tables sit unset, her counters strewn with used napkins and soiled silverware. The night has absorbed her all but for a light set above a booth in the farthest corner. Eliminated by the light's mirthful glow sit two strangers. The first, shrouded in a dark cloak, stares through narrowing eye at the woman before him. His age worn shoulders shift as she asked her pointed question.

"So you can help me then?" He begins fiddling with his pockets and pulls from them a gold medallion. The central stone is a bright red hue with a glossy tone. Around the stone, in detailed gold, lay twelve gems each of different cut and color but identical size.

He smiles at her words, baring his yellowing teeth, and whispers "why, of course, my dear"

As Ron began to bring himself back to that room, he was shocked by the ease with which the images came to him. It appeared as though he had been within those walls, suffocating in that stagnant air, a thousand times or more. The memories sat perched in his mind.

Once he had recited a few bits of information describing the room and its contents, Fred stared at him with a faint grin and asked, "Matilda?"

"Oh right, Matilda"

For a moment Ron could not recall a thing about the girl, but slowly her image drifted into view. She was young. Nineteen or Twenty. Her long reddish blonde hair had been tied back in an intricate plat and her green-gray eyes peeked out from beneath soft pink lids. Her lips, a light crimson color, sat in perfect form, pursed at the edge of a lost word. Now that Ron thought about it, Matilda was actually quite beautiful, really quite beautiful. Why hadn't he seen it before, she was stunning. Her nearly olive skin beamed, even in the dusty dank of that room. Her soft features held something invisible at first, but truly incredible. The frumpy maid's uniform could not hide the jewel wrapped within in it. Something felt wrong, something felt seriously wrong. It felt as though he was hurting someone gravely by admiring Matilda's beauty. He couldn't shake the guilt. Ron's confusion could clearly be seen for Fred had burst into hysterics, laughing and rolling back on his heels.

"What?" Ron asked infuriated.

"Boy, you really got it bad don't cha" Fred smirked

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"See for yourself" Replied Fred, indicating to the object perched atop a small boulder to Ron's right. Upon closer inspection the object was in fact a women's high heel shoe. Light blue and satin, Ron's fingers traced the fabric roses sitting quietly on the heel and along the toe.

"But Fred, I still don't-" he was cut off by the halo of blue light emitted by the little object. And once again the sensation met him, more daunting than ever, and he was ripped away.

Every movement Ron made brought a sudden tightening feeling to his limbs. Every breathe became more and more burdened. he tried to remain calm but his heart continued to race. The more he fought against the numbness seeping into his mind the more it rose trapping him in its listless haze.

The air around him suddenly felt dense, filled with breathe, and movement, and muffled noise. He opened his eyes to find them blurred. Fuzzy shapes drifted all about. Dancing and twirling in tantalizing hues. The floor beneath his feet shook as the room slowly came into view. He soon found himself surrounded by hundreds of spinning bodies. Their details remained blurry but they each had a familiar... Presence. As though he had seen each of them before, if only in passing.

Suddenly, As two larger shapes shifted and moved to their right another, far clearer, shape was eliminated. Just as Ron's eyes had latched onto the image something erupted in his chest, searing the tissue wrapped within his rib cage. Red hot emotion filled every tendril of his being, charring every inch. He couldn't breathe. What was this? There was no way to describe this, no title for such a feeling. All he knew was that something deep, deep inside was telling him he needed to be closer. He needed to protect it. With every ounce of strength he had to keep such beauty safe.

With each step he made the room and it's contents became clearer. Details no longer blurred and senses no longer stifled. He could now see he was, in fact, standing on the floor of the great hall a mists a sea of dancing pairs.

The blur which had so rapidly caught Ron's attention had transformed to. It was now a girl. A beautiful girl, draped in silky blue fabric with long sleek chocolate brown hair gently cascading down her back. But at the moment that's All Ron could see of her, her back. He moved forward reaching out and finally placing a light finger on her shoulder. She spun, locking her soft brown Gaze on his. For a split second a look of confusion crossed her features followed by recognition.

"Ron?" she asked.

"Hermione." he replied.


	5. Chapter 5

Ron's body slammed forward on to the sharp, wet cave floor. He felt his palm collide poorly with the ground and his wrist give out. Gasps for air took the place of screams of pain as he struggled to get a grasp on his still shifting surroundings. Disorientation took over as he felt his insides wrench and bile began to scorch his chest and throat. Shaking, involuntary tears streaking his face, he called out: "Fred?"

Fighting every urge to stay huddled on the ground until the pulsing, pounding of his head subsided, he stood. "Fred!" He demanded with what authority he could muster. "Fred, I want to know what's going on right now! I'm done; you can't play with me like this anymore."

"Ahh, but it's such a fun game." Came Fred's reply, gentle and almost tiered.

Though his clenched fists, aching wrist, and throbbing forehead didn't show it, hearing his brother's voice had had a calming effect on Ron even through his anger and frustration.

"Fred" He yelled exasperated. "Please"

There was a loud buzzing; a click and suddenly the cave walls were bathed by more light than ever before. Ron looked up to see three glowing balls, like miniature suns, hovering just beneath the cave's ceiling. F's silhouette was outlined against the little suns' illumination; his body perched on a boulder.

"How did you do that?"

"_That's_ the question you choose to ask?" Fred muttered under his breath. "Here"

Ron watched as Fred threw a small silver object into a gentle arch landing gracefully in his out stretched palm. He ran his fingers over the soft, polished surface of the small rectangular device. Ron's jaw slowly loosened and his brow furrowed as he examined its every inch.

"It… It looks familiar" He stated to himself more than the cave.

"It should." Ron could almost hear the smug grin on Fred's still darkened face. "It's yours."

"What?" Ron demanded. "What do you mean it's mine? I don't even know what the bloody hell this thing is!"

"Touchy, touchy. It's a Deluminator; it captures and releases light."

"Right, well brilliant. But that still doesn't explain why I'm in a sodding cave, being tossed back and forth like a bloody quaffle, or what this stupid _deluminator_ has to do with me."

A painfully familiar sensation began pulling at the corners of his consciousness as the rectangular deluminator in his palm turned that same shade of blue.

Flashes of light began to erupt on the edges of his vision. Green, blue, deep crimson, magenta the flashes continued until the cave, Fred, and the little suns where gone completely, replaced by a whirl pool of sound and color. Every sound he'd ever heard: the ripping of paper, the twinkle of a shop door opening, the familiar close of an oven door, someone calling his name, quills scratching parchment, squeaking floor boards, kettles whistling, all blaring at once, each one a far off memory, a symphony of forgotten moments.

The idea occurred to Ron, that was no port key.

Every sense on fire, he felt sweat gather on his brow and chest drenching his t-shirt and what little fringe he had. He could hear the rapid pounding of his heart against his rib cage. He shut his eyes in desperation, wanting the world to stop its racing.

And it did. It stopped. Colors no longer bounced against Ron's shut lids, the orchestra ceased its symphony of familiarity, and the walls in his head seemed to retract.

Gripping his robes in his clenched fists, Ron opened his eyes.

Woods? I'm in the bloody woods! He screamed to himself. He was, of course, correct for the sight that greeted him when his feet hit the ground was one of a darkened wood: shedding birch trees nestled among tall pine, floors of fading fall leaves, all trembling under the force of a heavy wind and splattering rain.

"Why in the blood hell am I in the woods?" Ron muttered inaudibly to himself. Frustration, rage, and fear all took hold of him and he began to thrust his fists angrily into the empty air as if expecting them to collide with something solid.

"RON!" at first he didn't believe himself, was it the wind? "RON!" the breathe in his throat stuck and that tingling sensation crept up his spine. "RON, please" somewhere out in the stormy woods someone was calling his name.


End file.
